Mostly I think that blogging is masturbatory nonsense. But, I have a lot of homework to put off right now. This always happens at a certain time of year.
What to talk about?
Recently someone claimed that I was not a feminist. I was bothered at first, because the comment came from someone whose opinion I hold in high regard. Nonetheless, it came from a man.
I think, for men, there are two kinds of feminists. There’s the angry, non-shaving, bra-burning, abortion rally feminist. Then there’s the kind of predatory, over-sexed, new-age feminist who thinks that pointedly having as much sex as possible, on the first date or whenever, is the best way to promote sexual equality, and who consequently has a lot of abortions. I think men really like the latter kind.
Truthfully I’m not either of these women. I love pink. I get excited about buying household items. I coo at babies from a distance. I feel prettier in a dress than in blue jeans. I’m totally having a mess of kids, eventually. So what? All of those things are wonderful, and fuck off if you think that makes me a bad feminist.
I can go for weeks without shaving my legs, but that’s just plain laziness. There’s nothing better than a really excellent bra. Do you know that horrible achey feeling, when you have d-cups, and you sleep on your belly without a bra on? No, you don’t. You’re a man.
As for promiscuous sex, well, I don’t do that. I envy those that can.
I don’t like to flaunt my intelligence. I like to keep it to myself. I don’t mean to say that it’s a weapon or a tool for manipulation, because I’m really not a combative person. I’m more or less care-free in my relationships, or lack thereof. In everyday conversation, I keep things light and forgettable.
I have no desire to impress anyone, most of the time.
Unless you’ve wronged me or someone I love, I’m not really compelled to help you realize how stupid you sound. That’s your problem, and in turn I don’t have to prove anything to you.
I don’t like to intimidate. I’m generally approachable, inviting, trustworthy. I know how you take your coffee, and I always inquire about your love life.
Yeah, I have breasts, and I don’t care that you notice. I don’t feel special because you’re staring, or beautiful, or loved because you’re picturing me topless. I’m not offended either. I’m laughing at you a little bit, though.
I’m short, and I need you to reach things on high shelves for me. Light my cigarette if I’m fumbling in my pockets, I’ll call you a romantic. I won’t accept money from you, or presents. I will not be indebted to you in any way, unless there are extenuating circumstances.
Most importantly, I don’t want to get roped into some boring conversation about your mindless liberalism. This becomes problematic when men learn that I’m studying politics at NYU. People get so excited at that point, but guess what! You’re no better than all those misinformed voters in the Midwest that you claim to hate so much. You don’t get any points for doing everything the media elite tells you to do. You’re a baby bird, eating Rachel Maddow’s regurgitated worms. You’re not qualified to talk about anarchy, so don’t try that either. There are much smarter people in power, and they really love money. You would too, so don’t try to impress me with your rehearsed altruism, unless you have something to show for it.
Anyway, finally, the point I am making here, is that I'm the best kind of feminist. My brand of feminism is not contrived. I love being female, I don't let men fuck me over, and someday the hypothetical man in my life will be my equal. I don't really care what anyone else thinks of me, or my thoughts on gender roles, in the meantime.
Actually, Stephen Colbert is NOT the funniest man in the world.
My dad is.
Dating in New York is hard.
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